


born to make it work

by seventhstar



Series: love's like a runway [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Project Runway Fusion, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Fashion & Couture, M/M, Reality TV, Sensual Inseam Measuring, Sexual Tension, assless chaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-09 16:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12279804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: The Project Runway AU, featuring fashion designer and long time Viktor Nikiforov fanboy, Yuuri Katsuki and five time World Champion and celebrity client, Viktor Nikiforov.Lilia is Nina Garcia. Georgi is Tim Gunn. Christophe wants Yuri to make him assless chaps. Will he? Read on and find out.





	1. you have thirty minutes to sketch

**Author's Note:**

> certain people enabled me. you Know who you are.

“For this challenge, you’ll be designing a figure skating costume for one of these incredible figure skaters. Remember, not only do you have to design something that fits the skater’s music and theme, but you have to make sure you don’t lose your own unique point of view. The winner of this challenge will have their design worn during this year’s Fashion On Ice event.” Anya snaps her fingers, and a staffer tosses her the dreaded buttonbag. “And now, you know what’s coming! Time for each of you to be assigned a skater.”

Yuuri grips his knees and starts praying as fervently as he can on three hours of sleep, two cups of bad coffee, and the dazzling aftereffects of having gotten to see Viktor skate in person.

Beside him, Yurio is scowling, but that’s par for the course with him. He’s capable of both men and women’s wear, and he’s got experience designing costumes, so he’ll probably be fine. On his other side, Sara is mouthing ‘please give me a woman’ under her breath. Yuuri wonders why no one ever practices menswear before auditioning for this show; haven’t they seen past seasons? There’s _always_ a menswear challenge.

On Yurio’s other side, at the end of the row, is Chad. Chad is from New York and once designed for Katy Perry, as he mentions approximately three times an hour. His design aesthetic is “Asian” and he designs nothing but kimono-inspired jumpsuits and qipao-inspired ballgowns. (Yuuri is pretty sure Chad’s weird “Asian” obsession is the reason he keeps trying to talk to Yuuri in the workroom. Does he think being Japanese is contagious?)

Oh, god. Anya’s hand is going into the bag. Yuuri tries to focus on what Georgi would say: _Rule over it, Yuuri. Now is your time to shine. You must become a beautiful prince of figure skating costumes and whirl away the judges like you’re dancing on a ballroom floor._

There are four options. Yuuko, standing beside Anya, radiant in white and gold (last season’s short program, she’s gorgeous, the embroidery took Yuuri three weeks) is smiling hopefully at him. Yuuri knows he could dress Yuuko, wants her to be his client desperately. Beside Yuuko is Mila Babachieva, who Yuuri only knows by reputation. Her style is feminine but edgy; Yuuri thinks he could probably dress her, although he might fuck it up.

On Anya’s other side is Chris Giacometti, who is winking at the designers. Yuuri is frankly kind of scared of Chris, because what if he can’t do that ass justice? Sexy is not really Yuuri’s thing. He’s a potato.

And beside Chris, looking lovelier than ever under the hot stage lights, dressed in black and blue…it’s Viktor Nikiforov. He has manicured nails. Yuuri knows every detail of his face and body, having been the president of the Viktor Nikiforov fanclub for most of his life. He’d almost fainted when the limo had deposited them outside the rink with Georgi this morning and Viktor had been inside, dancing across the ice in a step sequence Yuuri had never seen, with grace and power like a god come down to earth.

“Sara, since you won the last challenge, you get to go first. You’ll be working with,” Anya produces a white button, “Mila.”

“Thank fuck,” Sara mumbles. She waves, and Mila waves back.

“Chad, you’ll be working with…Yuuko.”

Yuuri’s stomach drops. Yuuko throws him a longing look, and then grins at Chad.

“Yuri P., you’ll be working with…Chris.”

Chris blows Yurio a kiss. Yurio looks outraged. Yuuri is glad his workstation isn’t next to Yurio’s anymore.

“And last but not least, Yuuri K., you will be working with Viktor.”

“It will be a pleasure,” Viktor says. He is looking right at Yuuri with his actual eyes. Yuuri swallows, nods.

“You will have thirty minutes to confer with your clients, take measurements, and sketch, and then you’ll be shopping at Mood. You will have five hundred dollars and two days for this challenge, so we expect great things.”

Cheers go up at the mention of five hundred dollars to spend. Yuuri stares into his lap as the cameramen spread out, and Anya disappears, and the eight of them are left to mingle in the midst of the makeshift runway that’s been set up on the basketball court behind the ice rink in the sports complex.

He has to talk to Viktor. Yuuri sucks in a deep breath, fully prepared to get up and go apologize to Viktor for making him wait, but when he looks up Viktor is right there, standing over him and smiling.

“Hello,” Viktor says. He holds out a hand. “I’m Viktor. I look forward to working with you, although I have to warn you, I have been told I’m…difficult.”

“I love ‘difficult’,” Yuuri says, dazed by proximity.

Yuuri has a list of questions written on the first page of his sketchbook, to ask clients so that if he gets nervous he can just read them off and note the responses. He’s prepared for this. He should be fine.

Viktor starts telling him about his program’s theme, and he pulls out a pair of headphones so Yuuri can hear the music, and Yuuri does not ask him even a single one of those questions. His program is about longing and not having. His music is Italian opera he had commissioned. Viktor waxes eloquently about love and pain, occasionally pausing to throw out tidbits like “Lace is alright as long as it’s not too bridal” or “Yellow is a hard no” or “No winter colors within half a meter of my face”.

After thirty minutes Yuuri hasn’t sketched anything, and also he has no idea what Viktor actually wants his costume to look like.

“Designers, your time is up!”

“Oh, shit.”

Viktor beams at him. “I feel like you really understand me,” he says. “And you’re so well dressed! I expect great things. See you at the fitting!”

“Right,” Yuuri says, just barely keeping from hyperventilating, or dying. He made the outfit he’s wearing himself. “Okay.”

“Don’t disappoint me!”


	2. day one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri always does this. Mood has too many options, and thirty minutes is not enough time, and Yuuri hasn’t actually sketched anything because he is a train wreck, so he just buys whatever might look good on Viktor. At least one salesperson catches him rubbing his face on a roll of fabric to assess the softness, because what if his design irritates Viktor’s skin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good news: the fic is finished!  
> bad news: i'm not gonna post it all at once, so daily updates!

“He wants ass,” Yurio complains. He throws his hands up in the air. “Ass! That’s his theme! Make his fucking ass look good! And he says he never wears animal print! I hate this challenge.”

+

“For Yuuko, I was immediately inspired by geisha,” Chad says. “She told me her theme is ‘home’, so I wanted to keep it quintessentially Japanese.”

+

“Mila’s theme is ‘alive’. That’s very abstract.” Sara frowns. “To be honest, I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want to just make something generically ‘feminine yet edgy’ and call it a day.”

+

“His theme is ‘apart’,” Yuuri whispers. The sound tech mouths ‘louder’ at him. “It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. Fuck.” He buries his face in his hands. “I forgot to measure his thighs. I hope I have enough fabric.”

+

He has too much fabric.

Yuuri always does this. Mood has too many options, and thirty minutes is not enough time, and Yuuri hasn’t actually sketched anything because he is a train wreck, so he just buys whatever might look good on Viktor. At least one salesperson catches him rubbing his face on a roll of fabric to assess the softness, because what if his design irritates Viktor’s skin?

How is he supposed to turn Viktor’s program—Viktor’s carefully crafted narrative, his dance of longing, his personally commissioned Italian aria, his sad eyes, the way their noses brushed while they were sharing a pair of headphones—into a piece of clothing?

He takes a deep breath and tries not to panic at the sight of his workstation, which is piled with folded yards of cotton jersey and silk and polyester. His sketchbook is under there, somewhere. His sketchbook. Which contains zero designs, zero information about what he and Viktor discussed, and none of Viktor’s measurements. On second thought, forget the sketchbook. He’ll just grab some muslin and start making a mock up.

As he pins, his mind drifts.

He didn’t start out a designer. Young Yuuri’s first love was ballet. But his second love had been Viktor, Viktor’s shining hair and flying jumps and accented English. Yuuri couldn’t afford to have merchandise imported, couldn’t dream of going overseas to see Viktor skate. Money was tight.

So his father offered him a panacea. He made him and Yuuko matching copies of Viktor’s free skate costume. It was black, and glittery, and it had a skirt, or at least half a skirt. It was like nothing Yuuri had ever worn before.

Yuuko wore the costume out on the ice, and threw herself into her burgeoning competitive skating career.

Yuuri wore it in his bedroom in front of the mirror, and felt powerful, and thought: _I want to feel like this again._

“It’s a deal,” Yuuko said when Yuuri brought her the first outfit he’d ever made. “I’m going to become World Champion, and you’re going to design all my costumes!”

That seemed impossible then, but Yuuri accepted her handshake and promised solemnly to make her anything she wanted. And now…

“How’s it going?” Sara asks. She is standing behind him; Yuuri nearly stabs himself with a pin. “This is a hard one, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, don’t worry, Yuuri. We’re all in the same book. Figure skating costumes are pretty niche.” She slaps his back. “Chin up, okay?”

Ever since the Crying Incident during episode ten, everyone has been telling Yuuri not to worry, to keep a stiff upper lip, to buck up, to stop crying, you ugly loser. (That last one is Yuri P.) He wishes they’d stop. Yuuri can’t just stop worrying—if he could, he would have a long time ago—and he doesn’t need to be told to keep it together. He knows. He can’t help but feel like every time he so much as blinks they’re all watching to see if he’ll shatter.

He steps back to take in what he’s got on the dress form. It’s awful, and also this dress form is not even close to being Viktor’s size. Yuuri has never been so grateful to have avidly consumed every piece of Viktor-related media over the past fifteen or so years, because he’s pretty sure Viktor’s measurements were in Playgirl. He can make everything slightly large, too; then he’ll just have to take the pieces in when Viktor shows up for his fitting.

_Stop thinking about Viktor in his underwear,_ Yuuri tells himself, before he gives in and start digging through the mess on his workstation for his sketchbook.

He can do the pants first. Those are black and standard; Yuuri has made plenty of pairs, presumably he still can if he doesn’t completely lose his shit. Then he’ll be fifty percent done, which is admittedly still a failing grade, but maybe finishing one piece will bolster his confidence enough for him to put out another one.

God, can he just send Viktor down the runway shirtless? Will anyone object?

“Fuck!” Yuri P. yells from across the room. Yuuri glances up to see him making some kind of purple leather monstrosity. There’s no animal print in sight.

Yuuri sends a brief prayer up for the souls of whoever is going to have to ago through all Yuri’s footage and censor out him swearing, and then picks up the black fabric and starts cutting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the more comments there are the more likely it is i'll have no self control and post new chapters faster :)


	3. mentor meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hmm.” Georgi squints through his fake lashes. “It has the depth of the witching hour, yet somehow it evokes the kiss at the end of Snow White—unfulfilled, unearned, and ultimately unsatisfying.”
> 
> “Uh.”
> 
> “Tell me about your dreams for this design.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tim gunn! georgi is my new fave

Yuri is tacking purple leather onto his dress form, pins jammed between his lips.

“It’s fine, I guess.” He spits the pins onto the table. Georgi winces. “It’s going to be two pieces. The top is just a sash,” Yuri slaps the rich blue satin sitting cut and unsewn on the table, “and then the pants are this leather.”

“Do you think leather is going to give him the flexibility he needs?”

“I’m going to do the seams in stretch fabric to give him movement.” Yuri turns the dress form around to reveal his design’s back.

“God in heaven,” Georgi says.

Instead of leather, the ass of Yuri’s pants is made out of a deep purple mesh.

“This is the compromise. He wanted it bare.” Yuri scowls furiously and jabs a pin through the leather. “But I told him no. It’s disgusting.”

“It’s like a dark prince, coming home after a decadent night of debauchery, only to find a beautiful and innocent songbird perched outside his window.” Georgi leans in and prods a pant leg with one long, black fingernail. “And your seam is crooked.”

+

Sara is sewing tiny fake seed pearls onto her design. She’s hunched over the fabric, and doesn’t notice Georgi peering over her shoulder until he clears his throat dramatically.

“How are we doing?”

“Oh, shit,” Sara says, as she narrowly avoids impaling herself. “Georgi, hi!”

She puts down her needle and holds up the dress so that Georgi can see it. It’s a dress with asymmetric sleeves, black on top, fading grey until it falls into a glossy white skirt. The sleeves have the same ombre effect. The pearls on the darker portions are white and pink; the ones on the lighter portions black and grey.

“Hmm.” Georgi squints through his fake lashes. “It has the depth of the witching hour, yet somehow it evokes the kiss at the end of Snow White—unfulfilled, unearned, and ultimately unsatisfying.”

“Uh.”

“Tell me about your dreams for this design.”

“Her theme is about being alive. I’m not sure what that means to her, so I thought about what it means to me, instead. Uh, life is full of both good and bad periods, but even when things are great, there are moments of pain. And even when things are bad, there are silver linings. I noticed based on the examples of her prior costumes that she seems to prefer a more elevated kind of embellishment, so I picked the seed pearls. I have some silvery trim I was thinking about using to pipe the seams, too.”

Georgi holds up the trim against the fabric. “Hmm.”

Sara squirms.

“It makes me think of the kiss between day and night. There’s potential for real elegance here.” Georgi shakes his head. “You should reconsider the placement of these pearls if you’re going to use four different colors. It can get messy.”

+

Chad’s dress form is dressed in red and white denim. The dress looks like a kimono, down to the long, dangling sleeves, but the skirt has been cut short. The ‘obi’ has cut outs filled in with red mesh encircling the waist.

“Chad. How are you?”

“Excellent, as always.” Chad is trimming stray threads away from the edges of the sleeves, which are unfinished. “What do you think?”

“It looks like the putrid vomit of an Eastern Asian Studies major after three am and a bottle of cheap sake.” Georgi squints. Even in the fluorescent lighting of the workroom, his glittery smokey eye shines. “Explain.”

Chad opens his sketchbook to reveal his design notes. The word ‘kawaii’ is written in all caps at the top of the page, underlined three times.

“Well, her theme is home. And she’s from Japan, so you know, immediately we had this bond. Japan is my spirit country. It’s a part of me. I was inspired by geisha, so I decided she needed a kimono. Red and white, to match the Japanese flag—see the cut outs? And of course, denim, because I’m from New York and that’s just how we do.”

For a full minute, Georgi says nothing. He walks around the dress form, examining it, plucking at the design and grimacing.

“I don’t say this often,” he says, finally. “But you don’t need to rule over this design.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve plundered it off all taste, sense, and value. You need to return to your references, and the preferences of your client, and allow them to lead you in the right direction. This—” Georgi waves at the dress form. “This is madness. This is a disease that will suck the talent out of you, like an oversized vampire bat returning night after night to a comatose cow. Surrender it. Begin again.” He sighs. “And don’t leave the sleeves unfinished. You _know_ Lilia will eviscerate you for it.”

+

Yuuri is cutting fabric at his workstation. His dress form is wearing only a pair of black trousers, but there are at least three complete garments sitting folded beside him. The fabric in his hands is sheer and pink.

“Yuuri?”

“Georgi!” Yuuri jumps. He sets down his scissors. “Shit. You’re here. Sorry,” he adds, looking at the nearest cameraman.

“What’s all this?

“Just some stuff I made.”

“And the pants?”

“Oh, those? They’re just the standard ISU regulation black trousers. Nothing special.” Yuuri waves vaguely at the dress form.

Georgi pinches the leg of the pants. He purses his grey-tinged lips; his lipstick doesn’t move. “What are you thinking for the top?”

“I…” Yuuri hangs his head. “I really don’t know.”

He goes back to cutting his fabric while Georgi picks through the stack of completed garments sitting on the workstation. He examines each of them carefully. There is a poet’s shirt in deep red with an open neckline and full sleeves, a severe black top with a high collar and white piping, and a piece in different shades of blue with the fabric pieced together to look like feathers.

“Yuuri, you’re being besieged by your own insecurity.” Georgi leans across the table. “This is Thermopylae. You must hold your own vision like it is that mountain pass, and not allow yourself to be tricked by the Trojan Horses of other ideas. Do you understand?”

“...yes?”

“Good! Rule over this, Yuuri. If you disappoint me, I’ll put a curse on you.”

“What?”

“All right, designers. You all have a lot of work to do. This is a two day challenge, so make the most of every second! Each challenge is like a,” he wipes at his eyes, “a loving relationship. Before you know it, it will be over, and you will weep when you are cruelly abandoned by Anya. I mean, fashion. Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *zombie voice* comments! i mean, brains.


	4. day two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri hurts. His fingers, arms, shoulders, back, neck, everything aches. His head throbs from sleep deprivation and stress. Last night, as he laid in bed, he could hear the other three designers in the living room, drinking and laughing. Yuuri couldn’t work up the energy to join them.
> 
> Besides, Chad was there. (Chad offered to sleep with Yuuri, but he turned him down. Yuuri wasn’t a little kid, he didn’t need someone to stay with him to keep away bad dreams.)

After a sleepless night, day two begins.

Yuuri hurts. His fingers, arms, shoulders, back, neck, everything aches. His head throbs from sleep deprivation and stress. Last night, as he laid in bed, he could hear the other three designers in the living room, drinking and laughing. Yuuri couldn’t work up the energy to join them.

Besides, Chad was there. (Chad offered to sleep with Yuuri, but he turned him down. Yuuri wasn’t a little kid, he didn’t need someone to stay with him to keep away bad dreams.)

He’s come up with four designs and he hates three of them. Number four has promise, but it’s the most ambitious of the lot. Yuuri got the fabric dyed yesterday; he can only hope the ombre effect will show up once it’s dry.

As they file into the workroom, all chatter stops. Yuri take his leather pants into the sewing room to fix the seams. Sara threads a needle, sits down on the floor under her table, and starts adding beads to her skirt. Chad continues to clip stray threads off of his dress’s sleeves.

And Yuuri lays out his dry fabric, measures, and starts to cut. The jacket has to be pieced together. The white shirt that will go underneath has to be sewn inside. Yuuri still hasn’t decided what he’s doing with all the gold braid and chains he bought. Not to mention the sheer pink overlay that has to go over the entire thing, so that the length of the top doesn’t conceal Viktor’s butt.

(What? It’s a nice butt.)

He loses himself in the work. The snap of the scissors, the whir of the sewing machine, the scrape of the thread through the fabric, the click of the golden chain—Yuuri hears nothing else and sees nothing else. The other designers stop to eat together; Yuuri only realizes he’s missed it when he nearly slips on some fallen mac and cheese.

Halfway through day two, Yuuri reaches mechanically for the next thing and realizes his workstation is empty. The garment is done but for the finishing touches. It hangs off of the dress form, made large to fit Viktor’s broad shoulders.

It looks awful.

It’s too pink. The sheer pink looks cheap. The gold gleams hideously. Yuuri sits down on the floor and buries his face in his hands. He’s ruined it. He has half a day left and he has absolutely nothing of value. He’s a failure. After last challenge’s disaster, the judges will send him home. And oh god, it’s almost noon, and that means—

“Designers, your clients will be here in five minutes for their fittings!” Georgi says. He’s wearing pastels today. Yuuri is so shocked he briefly forgets to panic. “Yuuri, can I have a word?”

Yuuri is dead certain that Georgi is about to send him home for being a shitty designer for a moment, and then reality reasserts itself. Probably Georgi can’t do that until Yuuri actually sends his garbage design down the runway.

They step out of the workroom into the hall.

“Yuuri, Viktor’s been delayed. He’s going to be about half an hour late for the fittings.”

“Oh…is he okay?”

“He’s fine, it’s a scheduling conflict. Do you feel like you can go on?”

“Sure,” Yuuri lies. He’ll just have a panic attack for the next half an hour. It’s fine.

“You’ll still have him for the same amount of time the others will,” Georgi assures him. “Of course you won’t be deprived that way.”

“Okay.”

“Rule over this, Yuuri. Conquer it. You can win!”

“…okay.”

Yuuri walks back into the workroom. He goes past his station, past his nightmare design, past the others, until he reaches the breakroom. He goes from there into the bathroom. He locks himself in the far stall.

Then he sits down, puts his head between his legs, and tries very hard not to cry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> insert me begging for comments here


	5. a conversation with a client

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yuuri?”
> 
> He barely has time to brace himself before Yuuko is there.
> 
> She doesn’t hug him—she knows him well enough to let him initiate. Instead she leans over the table towards him, grinning, her track jacket gleaming white under the workroom bulbs. She looks every inch the World Champion; Yuuri has no idea, in truth, why she continues to have Yuuri dress her, when she has the best designers in the world salivating after her.

When he slinks back into the workroom, fittings are in full swing, and no one pays him any attention.

Yuuri hides behind his dress form and begins taking apart the three garments he made before. He can try and use the fabric to rescue the mess he’s currently stuck with now, maybe. And if not, well, at least it’s something to do with his hands. He starts ripping out the stitches in the red shirt.

“Yuuri?”

He barely has time to brace himself before Yuuko is there.

She doesn’t hug him—she knows him well enough to let him initiate. Instead she leans over the table towards him, grinning, her track jacket gleaming white under the workroom bulbs. She looks every inch the World Champion; Yuuri has no idea, in truth, why she continues to have Yuuri dress her, when she has the best designers in the world salivating after her.

“Hey.”

“Oh my god, is this for Viktor?” She peers at his design, and Yuuri resists the urge to protect it from her eyes. At least, since she’s speaking Japanese, no one will understand her. “It’s gorgeous!”

“It’s okay.”

“It is not ‘okay’.” She lowers her voice and whispers conspiratorially, “I wish you were designing for me! This Chad guy wants me to wear white face paint and red lipstick tomorrow.”

Yuuri stares. “…like…like a geisha?”

“Yes!”

_“Why?”_

“I don’t know! I don’t think he listened to a word I said.” She raises her eyebrows. “What did Viktor say to you?”

“N-nothing! We just talked about his program.”

“Was he nice to you?”

“He was fine!”

“I know, right? If I weren’t married…” Yuuko shakes her head. “I mentioned you to him a couple times, but since you won’t let me introduce you—”

“You told him about me?” Yuuri asks, terrified. Yuuko has seen things. Like his cardboard cutout. Like his _masturbation binder._

“Nothing bad! He liked Vicchan.”

“You told him about my dog?”

“He said he was precious.” Yuuko winks. “I wish I’d had a good picture of you! But it doesn’t matter now. He’ll love your design, I know it.” She sighs. “I mean, at least you didn’t dress him in borscht.”

“Hey, Yuuko!” Chad calls across the workroom. “I need to check the fit again!”

“Help,” Yuuko mouths at him, and then she turns and yells, “Coming!” in English. “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says to her retreating back.

He watches as Yuuko takes the garment from Chad’s hands and steps behind a screen to change. She comes out after a moment and doesn’t look happy. He can’t blame her; the denim is stiff and ill-fitting, the skirt is uneven, and the sleeves will definitely get in the way while skating. Yuuri would have designed something softer, something with more movement; dark blue, maybe, with cream or light blue, colors that would bring out Yuuko’s skin and hair, not make her look sickly.

Yuuri takes a deep breath and pushes the pile of pulled-apart shirts aside, and then turns around and stares at his dress form.

It’s…

 _It is what it is,_ Yuuri decides. _If Viktor hates it, I’ll ask him what he wants, and I’ll just make that._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if you enjoyed it!


	6. model fitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hi!”
> 
> Yuuri stabs himself in the hand and yelps before tossing aside the gloves to avoid getting blood on them. His finger stings.
> 
> “Whoops!” Viktor produces a pack of tissues from his pocket and plucks one out. “Here—” And he takes Yuuri’s hand in his and applies pressure to his bleeding finger. His hands are warm. He has short, manicured nails, painted pale pink. 
> 
> “You-You’re here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enter viktor

Yuuri is making fingerless gloves to go under the jacket, now that he’s cropped the full sleeves to just above the elbow. They’re going to be black. Yuuri has made plenty of gloves like this, and despite the uncertainty of his measurements, the familiar work is soothing. He hand sews them; needle in, needle out. Needle in, needle—

“Hi!”

Yuuri stabs himself in the hand and yelps before tossing aside the gloves to avoid getting blood on them. His finger stings.

“Whoops!” Viktor produces a pack of tissues from his pocket and plucks one out. “Here—” And he takes Yuuri’s hand in his and applies pressure to his bleeding finger. His hands are warm. He has short, manicured nails, painted pale pink.

“You-You’re here!”

“I’m so sorry to be late,” Viktor says, “but they wanted to dispute my contract, my agent had to get involved…it was too much.”

“That’s okay.”

“Can I see it?” Viktor looks around. The dress form is empty; Yuuri’s folded up his design and put it under the pile of discarded tops so he doesn’t take it apart, too. “Is it ready?”

“Yes!” Yuuri throws everything onto the floor in his haste to unearth it. “Uh, here.”

He lays the pink jacket and white shirt combination out on the table. He lays the gloves on top, after a moment, and wonders what Viktor is thinking. Viktor’s expression gives nothing away.

Maybe he hates the asymmetry of the adornments. Or he hates the contrast of dark pink against pale pink, with the ombre on the chest. Or he hates the fact that the gloves are black but the shirt is white. Or maybe—

Viktor covers his mouth with his hand. “You did this in two days?”

“It’s not done,” Yuuri assures him, “I still have to fit it on you and finish the hems and everything—”

“Let’s try it on!”

Viktor strips off his shirt without a second’s hesitation, and Yuuri’s brain seizes at the sight of _Viktor fucking Nikiforov’s_ pectorals and abs and nipples. Viktor looks like what Abercrombie models want to grow up to be. Yuuri holds out the top to him on autopilot, all his focus on not looking like a panting dog; it is patently unfair that Viktor’s body looks like that when Yuuri has to be in close proximity to him with needles.

“Where’s the rest?” Viktor asks as Yuuri helps pull the top over his head.

Yuuri flushes, because the trousers are on his legs, the ends rolled up to keep them from getting dirty. Flexibility is an important part of figure skating costumes, and the dress form’s legs don’t move, so Yuuri has been doing his yoga routine to make sure they’ll accommodate Viktor’s movements while skating.

“I, uh, I was just…testing them…” Yuuri looks around wildly. “I’ll take them off!”

“Testing what?”

“Their stretchiness…”

“Oh?”

Yuuri can’t handle Viktor’s intense gaze, or even look him in the eye, so he does the first thing that comes to mind and drops to the floor in a full split. It hurts.

“Ack,” Viktor says. He coughs. “You…you’re flexible.”

“I work out,” Yuuri mutters. He gets up, puts his hands on the table, and extends his leg until hes in a vertical split. The pants don’t rip, at least. Even if Viktor is staring at him.

Yuuri hurries behind the screen to change his pants, comes back, and immediately regrets it, because Viktor has also taken off his pants. He’s wearing plain black underwear. His thighs are art. His toenails are also painted pink.

“Here.”

Viktor accepts the trousers and puts them on. Yuuri can’t help but watch; no one can look dignified while putting on pants standing up, not even Viktor, although Yuuri has to admit the flex of Viktor’s muscles is enough to distract him from the hilarity of Viktor trying to balance on one leg.

The pants don’t fit, but they’re not too small. Yuuri breathes a sigh of relief. He can take them in.

“Okay, just hold still.” He grabs a pincushion and drops to his knees.

He starts from the bottom and works his way up. Viktor is fidgety—Yuuri can see why his previous designers thought he was difficult—and Yuuri absently grabs his leg to keep him still. He gets all the way up to the knee before he realizes he’s holding onto Viktor’s thigh. His rock hard thigh.

Yuuri needs an inseam measurement.

He holds one end of the tape against Viktor’s ankle and the other…

 _I’m dying,_ he thinks, if only to avoid thinking about the placement of his hand.

“Right,” he croaks. “That’s…do they feel okay?”

Viktor turns around, puts his hands behind him on the table, and proceeds to extend his leg until he’s in a perfect vertical split. Yuuri’s mouth goes dry. He’s still on his knees, and he has…well. It’s a hell of a view.

“Not bad,” Viktor says. “I like them.”

“Great.”

“As for the top…” Viktor drops his leg and peers at himself in the mirror.

Yuuri gets to his feet and braces himself. If it’s awful, he’ll fix it, somehow. Or maybe he’ll drop out of the competition and go raise alpaca in Brazil. He’ll change careers and become a professional guinea pig groomer. He’ll get away from Viktor and the knowledge that he designed an ugly outfit for the world’s most beautiful man.

“Wow. Amazing! It’s exactly right!”

“R-really?”

“It’s soft and hard at the same time.”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, suddenly excited. Viktor gets it. “That’s why I used the military elements with the pink—”

“And the one shoulder—”

“I thought it would look better that way while you were spinning.”

“Genius,” Viktor breathes. “And it’s pink! No one’s tried to put me in pink since I was in Juniors.”

“I know! It’s terrible. Pink is my favorite on you,” Yuuri admits. Then his brain registers what his mouth just gave away, and he clamps his hand over his lips.

“Your favorite, hmm?”

“I’ve seen you skate before,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Yes, I know. Yuuko told me about you after I asked her who was doing her clothes.” Viktor leans in, too close. He smells good. “They’re exquisite.”

“I, ah.”

“Who else have you designed for?”

“No one! I mean, Phichit. And JJ Leroy. And Guang Hong Ji.”

“But not for me.” Viktor shakes his head. “Well, this is beautiful. So I forgive you.”

“O-okay.” Yuuri holds up the pincushion. “Can you raise your arms? I have to fit it.”

Viktor holds out his arms. Yuuri carefully fits every inch of the top—shoulder, waist, chest, back—and then measures the diameter of Viktor’s wrists and forearms for the gloves.

Finally he undoes the catches and slips it off Viktor’s shoulders. It’s warm. Yuuri sets it on the table like it’s made of glass.

If he works without stopping until the end of the day, he might finish. The construction and fit have to be perfect; with a body like Viktor’s, the judges won’t tolerate any flaws. And if he does it very, very well, maybe Viktor will talk to him in that flirty tone again, and Yuuri will get through it without doing his best impression of a tomato.

He puts it back on the dress form and begins looking for the right color of thread. He pulls the thread through the eye of the needle, squinting, and starts to sew. Five minutes pass. Ten.

Viktor’s fingers brush over his back.

“Gah!”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Viktor changes back into his clothes (again, without going behind the screen, although Yuuri is prepared this time and doesn’t impale himself). He carefully folds the pants and sets them on the table, and then goes.

Yuuri blinks.

“Right,” he says, and gets back to work.

He’ll think later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the entire fic was an excuse to write this scene. why yes, i AM garbage.


	7. pre-show prep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri does a final check for pins—he learned to do that the hard way after pricking Yuuko one too many times—and sucks in a deep breath.
> 
> “Makeup next,” he says.
> 
> Viktor shakes his head. “Hair first.”
> 
> “But—”
> 
> “Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update today! chapters 7 and 8, bc i love y'all (also bc 9-11 are gay as hell)

The morning of the runway show arrives with a bang.

“Sorry!” Chad yells. “Dropped the kettle!”

Yuuri rolls over, pillow pressed to his head. His alarm isn’t set to go off for three more minutes. He hates Chad.

In the bed across from him, Yuri Is grumbling as he styles his hair, and in the shower, Mila is singing. The noise is oppressive. Yuuri wants to crawl under his bed and stay there until the runway show is over, but he can’t. Viktor said _see you tomorrow,_ after all.

Besides, Yuuri has to show the judges he’s not a loser, even if he in fact is. They don’t know his life. They might still be fooled.

(If he takes more care with his appearance than normal—slicked back hair, mascara, clothes that aren’t from the Katsuki Yuuri Depression Collection—it’s no one’s business.)

The workroom is frenzied as soon as they arrive. Their clients file in, and no one except Yuuri is finished, and the sound of sewing machines clacking and designers making frustrated noises fills the air. Yuuri wonders if maybe he’s getting too confident by finishing early, but he can’t think of any changes to make.

Viktor waits patiently as Yuuri presses his costume and then helps him into it. He’s not wearing any makeup, and his hair looks different unstyled. _He has freckles on his nose,_ Yuuri realizes as he fastens the hidden catches on Viktor’s jacket. He could draw constellations in them.

Yuuri does a final check for pins—he learned to do that the hard way after pricking Yuuko one too many times—and sucks in a deep breath.

“Makeup next,” he says.

Viktor shakes his head. “Hair first.”

“But—”

“Trust me.”

Yuuri does. They go to the hair studio first, where a stylist coos over Viktor’s soft, silvery hair. Yuuri opts to keep Viktor’s hair as natural as possible, since that’s how Viktor says he plans to wear it on the ice. Viktor has a lot of opinions on what products are allowed to be used on him.

Then they go to makeup. Again, Yuuri opts for natural; the program is serious, after all, and he doesn’t trust himself not to make Viktor ridiculous if he goes for a more avant garde look.

Viktor keeps taking the brushes out of the makeup artists’ hands to do things himself, which is admittedly annoying but also kind of cute. Yuuri is vaguely embarrassed, or he would be if watching Viktor do his makeup wasn’t so fascinating.

They end up back in the workroom, as the clock ticks down. Five minutes. Yuuko yelps in the background as Chad presumably sticks her with a pin; Mila is twirling in front of the mirror, smiling; Chris is trying to check out his own ass using his phone camera. Georgi is standing in the doorway. It’s almost time.

Yuuri feels like he’s falling.

“Ready?”

He nods.

“Don’t worry,” Viktor tells him. “I’ll make it look good. Just watch.”

He squeezes Yuuri’s shoulder, and then they’re being called to the runway, and Yuuri is following Viktor down the hallway, chest tight, heart pounding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe...you should comment?


	8. runway show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music plays.

Music plays.

Mila Babachieva steps onto the runway. She is wearing a short dress that fades from black to white from the top of her shoulder to the hem of her skirt. The sleeves are asymmetrical, one full length and one just covering her shoulder. The dress is studded in multicolored faux seed pearls in an abstract pattern resembling a galaxy. As she passes the judges, she waves; at the end of the runway, she spins in place like a dancer.

Isabella scribbles furiously. Anya nods.

Next, Chris Giacometti takes to the catwalk. His walk is more sensual than Mila’s. He’s wearing an x-shaped sash in dark blue with a studded ornament in the center of his chest, and purple leather trousers with stripes of black jersey at the seams. When he reaches the end of the runway, he turns around, slowly, showing off the glittery mesh back of his pants.

Lilia raises one eyebrow. Seung gil writes something unflattering on his judging card.

Third, Yuuko Nishigori makes her entrance. She is walking gingerly in towering, shiny white platform heels. Her dress is made of red and white denim with raw, frayed edges, and looks like a truncated kimono. Her hair and makeup have been styled in a stereotypical ‘geisha’ way, with white foundation and red lips. She tries for a twirl at the end of the runway, but the sleeves are too heavy to swing freely.

Lilia raises both eyebrows.

Finally, Viktor Nikiforov appears. He is wearing a pink jacket over a white shirt, with gold embellishments. The bottom layer of the jacket is made of pale pink and magenta fabric, dyed so that they fade into each other down the front. The sheer pink overlay has a sheen in the light; the gold sparkles. The transparent back of the jacket flutters as he walks. Viktor doesn’t pause at the end of the runway; instead, he turns around and jumps, turns midair, and sticks the landing.

He gets a round of applause as he walks off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost to the end now!


	9. judging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You all know your judges. There’s me,” Anya gestures to herself, “Seung-gil Lee, creative director of Mamba. Lilia Baranovskaya, editor-in-chief of Vogue Russia magazine. And our guest judge for today, Isabella Yang, CEO of JJ Style.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are getting this early bc i have to go work out

“You all know your judges. There’s me,” Anya gestures to herself, “Seung-gil Lee, creative director of _Mamba._ Lilia Baranovskaya, editor-in-chief of _Vogue Russia_ magazine. And our guest judge for today, Isabella Yang, CEO of JJ Style.”

+

“My design is based off of traditional Japanese—”

“Enough.” Lilia cuts Chad off. “Yuuko. You are displeased.”

Yuuko sighs. “I appreciate the hard work that Chad put into this design, but it just isn’t for me. I don’t think he really understood my theme.” She tugs at one of her sleeves. “When I think of ‘home’, I think about my hometown, and my husband and kids, and my home rink, and the sound of the gulls in the morning. Not about geisha, or the Japanese flag.”

Chad opens his mouth, and then closes it.

“It’s a parody of Japanese patriotism,” Seung-gil says. “It’s bad.”

“You know, I don’t know how you’re supposed to skate with those sleeves,” Isabella adds. “That plus the denim, which isn’t going to breath or stretch well on the ice…it’s not practical.”

“You have left the sleeves unfinished,” Lilia intones. “It is ugly.”

“But—” Chad begins. “It’s so Japanese! She’s Japanese! I stuck to the theme exactly!”

“Next!” Anya says.

+

“You sewed the seed pearls by hand?” Lilia asks.

“Yes.” Sara stands up very straight. The ‘ma’am’ goes unspoken.

“Well done.”

“I really like this. It’s elegant, especially the contrast between light and dark, but it’s not too obvious,” Anya says.

“It looks like it’d be right at home in the rink. What do you think, Mila?” Isabella asks.

Mila grins and spins in place. “I love it! I’ve never worn anything like it. I think it would be a lot of fun to skate in.” She grabs Sara’s hand and squeezes it. “You’re great at this.”

“Thanks.” Sara wipes her brow. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Not terrible,” Seung-gil says. From him, that’s high praise. Beside him, Georgi muffles a sob of joy.

+

“Hmm.”

Yuri sweats as Lilia stares at him.

“Chris, how do you feel about this design?” Anya asks.

Chris grins. “I was worried,” he says. “But it’s very sexy, isn’t it?” He turns around.

Anya whistles appreciatively.

Seung-gil wrinkles his nose. “The taste level is questionable.”

“I was surprised to see this from you, Yuri.” Lilia continues to stare. “It is unexpected.”

Yuri straightens. “He’s the client, so I had to give him what he wanted.”

“Well, I love it.” Isabella shrugs. “It’s hot, but it’s not tacky.”

“See, I disagree! That sash on top, it’s very Miss America to me,” Anya says.

+

“Yuuri, tell us about your design.”

Yuuri opens his mouth and closes it. Nothing comes out. Viktor glances at him and slides his arm over Yuuri’s shoulders. He squeezes.

“I, uh.” Yuuri clears his throat. “I made this for Viktor based on his description of his program’s story. The pink and the transparent parts are supposed to contrast with the military style elements.”

Anya sighs.

“Stunning,” she says. “Absolutely stunning.”

“I had high expectations for you, Katsuki Yuuri.” Lilia folds her arms. “You have designed for many figure skaters on the international stage. There will be no lenience for you if you make mistakes.”

“I know,” Yuuri says.

“Fortunately, what you have presented today exceeds my expectations. I see that last week was an aberration. Good.”

Viktor grins widely.

“I’m not surprised that your work is good, Yuuri, because I’ve seen a lot of your designs,” Isabella says. “But I am surprised Viktor likes it because he is notoriously picky—”

“I’m not that bad,” Viktor says. “Yuuri is a genius. He’s exceptional. He didn’t cry _once.”_

“I did, you just weren’t there.”

“Oh.”

“It’s good.” Seung-gil’s brow unfurrows slightly. “I like it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost done!


	10. commercial break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is going to wear his costume.
> 
> Oh, god.
> 
> Yuuri buries his face in his hands. He feels like he’s going to explode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this train has finally arrived at victuuri station

Backstage, Yuuri stands in the hallway outside the green room where the designers wait during judging. His heart is pounding; too much is happening. He won the challenge. He’s going to the final. He has to design an entire collection for New York Fashion Week. His clothes are going to be worn at Fashion On Ice.

Viktor is going to wear his costume.

Oh, god.

Yuuri buries his face in his hands. He feels like he’s going to explode.

“Are you all right?” One of the staff asks him.

“Yeah.” Yuuri nods, rubbing at his eyes, and then has a wild idea. “Are the skaters still here?”

“Well—”

“Could I talk to Viktor?”

They shrug, and go ask someone else. After a moment they return.

“Back there.” They point. “Five minutes, okay? You have to be back before the eliminations are over.”

“Great.” Yuuri flees down the hall. Sure enough, there’s the sound of Russian being spoken in one of the dressing rooms. He knocks on the door, quickly, before he can come to his senses.

The door opens, revealing Yuuko. “Yuuri!”

“Is Viktor—busy?”

“Yuuri!” Viktor nearly bowls Yuuko over in his haste. “Hi! Did you win?”

“Yes. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Ah, I should thank you! If you won I get to keep your beautiful costume.”

“Can I have your autograph?”

Viktor blinks. Yuuri thrusts out his sketchbook.

“I’m a big fan,” he mumbles.

Yuuko raises her eyebrows at him over Viktor’s shoulder.

Viktor smiles and takes the sketchbook from Yuuri's outstretched hands. “Sure.” He produces a gold Sharpie from a pocket and starts writing. Yuuri wonders if he’ll sign in English, or Russian, or both. He hopes both.

Viktor writes for so long that Yuuri starts to feel a little nervous, then snaps the book shut and hands it to him.

“Yuuri, we need you back in the green room!”

“I have to go.” Yuuri clutches the sketchbook to his chest, acutely aware of his burning cheeks. “Bye.”

“See you around,” Viktor says.

The nearest cameraman ushers Yuuri back to the room where Sara is waiting, and he barely has time to receive her congratulations and sit down before the door slams open. It’s Yuri, exuberant in his triumph.

“Made it!”

“Congratulations,” Yuuri says.

“I worked my ass off for this.” Yuri collapses into a chair and throws his feet up onto the table. His sneakers are purple tiger print.

“More like you worked _Chris’s_ ass,” Sara says slyly. She dodges the pillow Yuri hurls at her face.

They all grin at each other, riding the high of being the final three, and then the door opens again. It’s Chad.

“Guess the judges just don’t get me,” he says. “There’s a lot of anti-Asian discrimination in fashion.”

Yuri snorts. Sara gets up and shakes Chad’s hand; Yuuri, despite his relief that Chad is finally leaving, gets up to do the same. He holds out his hand; Chad takes it. His handshake lingers, and after a moment, Yuuri jerks his hand out of Chad’s grip.

“Later, dudes,” he says. Georgi appears to hug him gingerly and tell him to “use this opportunity to be reborn as the new ruler of LA fashion” before sending him on his way. There’s some talk about their collections, and Georgi visiting, and their travel arrangements out of New York, but Yuuri barely hears. It’s just hit him: he’s going home.

Home to his parents. Home to katsudon. Home to Vicchan.

He opens his sketchbook and thumbs through, looking for the page Viktor signed. He wonders if Viktor wrote him a message, maybe _nice to meet you_ or _good job_ or something. Maybe Viktor wrote Yuuri’s name there. Maybe he—

_Yuuri-_

_CALL ME_  
_812 345 9090_

_-Viktor Nikiforov_

The message is surrounded by little hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more!


	11. rostelecom cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri would die before he turned down an opportunity to see Viktor Nikiforov skate. So here he is, rinkside at the Rostelecom Cup, Viktor’s first Grand Prix series event. The stands are crowded, and it seems every other spectator is here to cheer Viktor on. The anticipation for the free skate is high; Viktor is in first place, and therefore skating last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for maximum effect, you should listen to duetto: stammi vicino while reading this

_I have a surprise for you,_ Viktor wrote. _Will you come watch me skate?_

Yuuri would die before he turned down an opportunity to see Viktor Nikiforov skate. So here he is, rinkside at the Rostelecom Cup, Viktor’s first Grand Prix series event. The stands are crowded, and it seems every other spectator is here to cheer Viktor on. The anticipation for the free skate is high; Viktor is in first place, and therefore skating last.

Yesterday, seeing Viktor skate his short program in person was like a dream. And afterward, falling asleep in Viktor’s hotel room beside him as they watched a Netflix documentary about alpacas was better than any dream Yuuri’s ever had. Ever since Yuuri sent Viktor that first tentative text message from his studio in New York, and received three pictures of Viktor’s dog and a five hundred word rant about the ISU in response, he’s been enthralled—not by Viktor the skater, but by Viktor the weird human being.

It’s almost too much. How can someone like Viktor want a dime-a-dozen fashion designer like Yuuri? But he does, if his half (sometimes more than half) naked Snapchats are any indication.

Yuuri grips his poodle plush, handmade in the dead of night to combat insomnia, which he hopes Viktor will catch. JJ Leroy is finishing up his program. Yuuri marvels at the height of his jump, even as he wonders who is doing his costume this year; the crotch of JJ’s pants is…interesting.

Cheers go up as JJ does a victory lap and heads off the ice. It’s time.

“Go, Viktor!” Yuuri screams with the rest of the crowd.

He, like the rest of the audience, is wild to know about Viktor’s free skate, which has been kept a secret from the public. Viktor wouldn’t tell Yuuri when he asked, even when he appended the question to a photograph of himself at Amateur Night at Miss Pretty’s Pole House. (Phichit took the picture while Yuuri was distracted by tequila.)

Yakov takes Viktor’s jacket as he slips off his skate guards, and—

Oh, god. It’s Yuuri’s design. It’s the costume Viktor wore at Fashion On Ice, and tweeted about tagged #YuuriKatsuki, and that he gushed about to the cameras when he showed up to cheer Yuuri on at the finale, and that he keeps in his closet in a garment bag patterned with glittery hearts.

Viktor skates to the center of the rink. He turns his head and looks in Yuuri’s direction. He smiles.

Yuuri waves.

Viktor waves back at him, the woman next to Yuuri screeches, and then Viktor poses as the music starts to play—

 _Sento una voce che piange lontano_  
_Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?_

Viktor skates with such exuberance happiness. Yuuri’s pretty sure he must look ridiculous, gaping at his boyfriend (his boyfriend!) doing a program about him for everyone to see. The music is different than it was at Fashion On Ice. This version is lighter, softer. It’s a duet.

Four different quads. The gold chain looped over Viktor’s shoulder glitters as he spins. When the last notes play and Viktor ends, arms wrapped around himself, Yuuri flings the plush so hard it lands directly on Viktor’s face.

Viktor holds it to his chest tightly, even when he’s in the kiss and cry. He doesn’t let go of it until Yuuri escapes the stands and flings himself into Viktor’s arms.

(Yuuri’s next collection is called Yuuri!!! On Ice. It’s nominally about Yuuri’s love for ice skating, but it’s almost universally known as ‘Katsuki’s gay collection.’ He and Viktor model the whole thing in a series of viral Instagram posts.

“I can’t believe I get to dress you.”

Viktor waggles his eyebrows. “I can’t believe you’re not _un_ dressing me.”

“Well, okay,” Yuuri says, and he peels the half-made garment off of Viktor, carefully, and sets it aside.

“You’re taking too long!”

“If this garment gets ruined I want a divorce!”

“We’re not even married.”

“About that—”

Viktor pounces.

Their wedding clothes are _iconic.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone enjoyed it! let me know what u thought in the comments
> 
> also if u liked this, i made a rec list of good reality tv aus:
> 
> http://pencilwalla.tumblr.com/post/166479035961/born-to-make-it-work-chapter-1-seventhstar

**Author's Note:**

> hello naughty readers it's commenting time


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